So I was just sitting here at my computer, catching up on e-mails and plotting what colors to use for my belated cast-on of the mid-month dishcloth, when I glanced up at an unreachable corner of the ceiling and saw an ENORMOUS house centipede way up there, where I couldn't reach it. You know the ones--impossibly long, spindly, gross legs, bajillions of them, and they bite? (The centipedes, not the legs.) (They also sometimes leave a purple mark when you squish them.) I immediately let out an appropriately girly exclamation of fear and disgust, intensified by the fact that there was no way in hell I could reach the thing to squish it. These suckers seriously creep me out. Even when they're right there on the floor, easily reached and squished, I have to do a few minutes of tiptoe-dancing before I can get myself close enough to do the deed.
As I watched, it started to try to make its way across the ceiling. For a moment, I was happy--this could bring it within squishing range. Then I realized that this would also possibly bring it directly over my head, and I made girly noises again. Then--this is the worst part--after only a few inches, the textured plaster of the ceiling proved to be too much of a challenge for its many disgusting legs--and it dropped. DIRECTLY INTO THE STASH AREA. I now have NO idea where it might be--apart from possibly borrowing into one of the bags that hold overflow stash. It could be in my yarn! The yarn that I was planning to use for a dishcloth this very day!
I may have to buy new yarn. All new yarn. My old yarn is a loss.
Also, I do not feel that this in any way diminishes my feminism, or my status as a strong, independent woman. I firmly believe that even Attila the Hun cowered in the face of house centipedes. They're even creepier than spiders.